


raise me to your lips

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [135]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: “We’re done the semester,” Stiles says, stepping away from the windowsill and crossing the space, small as it is, between them, “and we should celebrate.”“I assume you had an idea forhowto celebrate?” Isaac asks, raising an eyebrow as Stiles officially steps into his space, close enough for their hips to touch.“More like six, actually,” Stiles replies, nose bumping against Isaac’s. “But mainly, I just wanted to blow you. Does that sound alright?”





	raise me to your lips

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started this back in 2015, abandoned it, and then decided to finish it for the Work In Progress Week challenge over at tumblr!
> 
> Title from [Inertia Creeps](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3mn7EC-skg) by Massive Attack.

Isaac's favorite time of the year to be on campus is during exam week. It's not that he particularly enjoys the assessments themselves; hell, studying for his first semester Intro to Chemistry final had just about given him a heart attack, what with the consumption of more energy drinks than he cared to think about, just so that he could have a few more waking hours to memorize formula after formula. 

So no, it's not the exams itself that he likes; rather what he enjoys is the _quiet._ Aside from the libraries and the coffee shops, as soon as exams hit, the vast majority of their sprawling campus is left unoccupied. Without the noise of thousands upon thousands of students bustling to class, chattering about everything under the sun, the grounds are eerily quiet. While Isaac has gotten used to the noise and the crowds, getting used to something certainly isn't the equivalent of enjoying it, and even with the additional stress that comes from having to study for exams of his own, he much prefers the campus when it's nearly empty. Without classes going on, he can find easily find a spot in the depths of the buildings where there's not a soul in sight, and he can focus on his own studying.

The sixteenth floor of the arts and humanities building, a towering patchwork of gleaming glass and shiny metal, is no exception to the quiet rule; if anything, it's the quietest place on campus Isaac has ever wandered into. The whole floor appears to be mainly offices and seminar rooms, and what with it being the last official day of exams, there doesn't seem to be a single person in any of them. He can't hear the humming of machinery (which is always pervasive in the science buildings) or the rustling of papers being turned or even faint coughing. Instead, the only sounds are his own footsteps as they slightly echo those of Stiles, who has a grip on his hand and is eagerly tugging him along like he's a kid trying to find Christmas presents while their parents are out.

“Stiles, what are we doing up here?” he asks, glancing back at the long, empty hallway stretching out behind them. 

“It's a surprise,” Stiles says, not even bothering to keep his voice down, glancing back over his shoulder and grinning in a way that makes Isaac's stomach flip slightly. “You'll like it, I swear.” They stop a few seconds later, in front of the last office at the end of the hallway. The lights are off inside (just like they were off in the dozen other offices they passed on the way), and there's a keycard scanner set into the wall beside the closed door. There's a piece of paper taped to the wall above the scanner with four names on it, and Isaac recognizes the names Allison and Lydia; they were TA's for his mandatory English course, the one where he met Stiles, the loud, slightly obnoxious boy with a beaming smile and a mouth like a porn star. 

“Do you have an appointment or something?” he asks, peering through the glass of the tiny window set into the door. The office looks like it's already been vacated; the single desk is completely cleared off and from what he can tell, the wastebasket is empty as well. “Did you forget to pick your paper up at the exam?”

“Nope,” Stiles says as he drops Isaac's hand and starts rummaging through his pockets. “I grabbed my paper. Grabbed something else too.” With a triumphant noise, he yanks out a small rectangle similar in appearance to a credit card and brandishes it in front of Isaac's face. The look on his face is one that Isaac recognizes all too well, closer to a smirk than an actual grin, and he can feel a swirl of anticipation and nerves building in his stomach. He doesn't know why it took him so long to figure it out, but now he's almost positive that he knows where this is going.

“How did you manage to grab that?” he asks as Stiles slides the keycard through the scanner, which unlocks the door with a quiet click. It's not that he doubts Stiles' affinity for stealing; it's just that all too often, his attempts at “borrowing” items are thwarted.

“I wanted until Allison was distracted by Scott and I grabbed it out of her purse,” he shrugs, sliding the card back into the pocket of his jeans and pushing the door open. “Easy.” The door closes soundlessly behind them, which is when Isaac realizes just how tiny the space really is. Aside from the desk, which has two typical office chairs set up, one on either side of it, the only furniture is some empty bookshelves and the trash can in the corner. But even with the limited furniture, there's not a lot of room to maneuver, and Isaac is very glad that he actually likes Stiles, doesn’t mind spending time in close proximity to him (for reasons he occasionally has trouble figuring out). 

“What if we get caught?” he asks, glancing back at the door. He's all for a little bit of risk, truly, but the consequences of their actions if caught are a little more severe than he'd like. 

“We won't,” Stiles says, shrugging his backpack to the floor and walking behind the desk to lean against the windowsill. The curtains are pulled back, and tiny as the room is, Isaac has to admit that it has a pretty killer view. The sun is just starting to set, rays refracting off the thousands of panes of glass in the other newer buildings on campus, the glare so bright that he has to squint. The people crossing the quads that dot the campus are incredibly small, nothing more than smudges of color and movement. Beyond the school’s borders, the city rises and falls, alternates between more towers of glass and older brick buildings full of history. Isaac is fairly certain that he could stare out the window for hours, watch the sky bleed from light blue to orange and black, watch the streetlights flick on simultaneously.

But sticking around for that long would basically be begging to be caught and, besides, he has a suspicion that the view isn’t the reason Stiles brought him up here in the first place. 

“So, what’s the surprise?” he asks, bumping the chair aside with his hip and leaning back against the desk, which thankfully feels sturdy enough underneath his hands as he wraps them around the edge. Stiles jumps slightly, like he got lost in the view, and spins around, face breaking out into a grin that only furthers the swirling storm of anticipation and slow-burning arousal inside of Isaac. 

“We’re done the semester,” he says, stepping away from the windowsill and crossing the space, small as it is, between them, “and we should celebrate.” 

“I assume you had an idea for _how_ to celebrate?” Isaac asks, raising an eyebrow as Stiles officially steps into his space, close enough for their hips to touch. Instinctively, he drops his hands to Stiles’ narrow waist, tangles his fingers into the worn, soft fabric of the hoodie he’s wearing. 

“More like six, actually,” Stiles replies, nose bumping against Isaac’s. “But mainly, I just wanted to blow you. Does that sound alright?” 

_Alright_ isn’t exactly the word Isaac would use to describe his feelings about that; frankly, it doesn’t come anywhere close. But he doesn’t exactly want to pen an ode to how ungodly talented Stiles is with his mouth, so he nods instead and settles his weight more firmly back against the desk. 

He’s all too aware of the door at his back, aware that it’s the only barrier between them and someone potentially stumbling across them, but he’s sure that, even if anyone _does_ venture up here, he’ll be able to hear their footsteps echoing down the hallway before they actually reach the door. 

And if he _doesn’t_ hear them, is too caught up in the moment (because that _does_ have a tendency to happen when Stiles has his mouth wrapped around him), he just hopes that he’ll be able to get his pants back up in the time it takes a keycard to open the door. 

At that point, it’ll be up to Stiles to come up with a plausible excuse for what they're doing up here. 

Yeah,” he answers, close enough that he can feel Stiles’ breath brushing over his lips. “Alright.” 

Stiles doesn’t waste any time crashing his mouth into Isaac’s. He slots one of his legs between Isaac’s and tangles his long fingers into his hair. The line of his body is warm and firm, and Isaac shoves his hands under Stiles’ hoodie, slides his palms over the taut skin stretched over Stiles’ freckled hips. For his efforts, he’s awarded with a nip to his bottom lip, hard enough to sting but not draw blood, and he gives back as good as he gets by pressing his fingernails into Stiles’ lower back. 

What comes after that is too hard to be classified as a nip. It’s a proper, solid bite. 

While Isaac could kiss Stiles for hours, could devour and be devoured until he loses track of time, part of him is glad when Stiles pulls away and starts kissing along his jawline and his neck, lips sloppy but firm, leaving a trail of saliva and marks that will probably fade by the time they leave. He stops briefly to mouth at Isaac’s collarbone through his t-shirt, and when he scrapes his teeth along the protruding bone, the sensation sharp and dragging even through the extra layer of fabric, Isaac bites back a moan, has to resist the urge to thread his fingers into Stiles’ short hair and hold him there for a few minutes. Stiles leans up to press a quick kiss to the base of Isaac’s throat, and Isaac can feel him smiling. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, mouth dragging, catching on Isaac’s clavicle momentarily as he sinks down to his knees. While his hands make short work of Isaac’s button and zipper, his nose nudges at the bottom of Isaac’s shirt, until it’s rucked up enough for Stiles to get his mouth on the skin underneath Isaac’s navel. 

It never fails to amaze him how, even though Stiles usually can’t walk a straight line without tripping over his own feet, when it comes to the two of them together, he’s able to effortlessly multi-task, bring Isaac off like it’s as easy as breathing. 

Isaac’s jeans fall to mid-thigh, trapped there by his legs, but before he can try to widen his stance so that Stiles can get them down further, Stiles pulls his cock out of the slit in the front of his boxers and wraps his lips around the head. 

“Fuck,” Isaac groans, dropping his hands back to the edge of the desk and gripping it tightly. Stiles’ mouth is wet and warm, and when he takes more of Isaac in and adds suction, Isaac is surrounded by the smooth inside of his cheeks. Stiles’ large hands curl around his thighs and tug him a little bit closer, and Isaac nearly chokes on a moan as he slides further into Stiles’ mouth, nearly far enough to reach the back of his throat. 

He takes a moment to switch his focus from Stiles to their surroundings, just to see if he can hear anything, hear anyone that might be approaching. 

But the hallway remains silent, and when he looks back over his shoulder, there’s nothing on the other side of the window set into the door but a white painted wall. 

With that, he returns his attention to Stiles. 

For a few moments, Stiles doesn’t bob his head. He simply lavishes the part of Isaac’s cock that he already has in his mouth. He drags the tip of his tongue along him, slides it over the head again, twirls it in a way that has Isaac digging his fingernails hard into the desk. Eventually, he pops off with a obscenely slick sound, grins up at Isaac with gleaming lips, and wraps his hand around the base of Isaac’s cock. 

Before Isaac can ask what he’s smiling about, Stiles ducks back down and redoubles his efforts in earnest. 

The glare of the sun coming through the windows has grown increasingly intense, so Isaac closes his eyes and drops his head back, loses himself in the borderline overwhelming feeling of Stiles’ mouth and hand, working in total sync. At the relentless pace Stiles is going, head bobbing up and down, hand working the base of his cock, Isaac knows that he isn’t going to last long. 

(Which is a good thing, because he’s pretty sure that someone could come stumbling through the door behind them and he wouldn’t notice until it was way too late.)

When his orgasm is beginning to build, manifesting itself in the tensing of his muscles, he realizes that the room has grown louder. Eyes flicking open (and immediately dropping into a squint against the glare of the sun), he looks down to see that Stiles’ jeans are open, and his other hand is shoved inside his boxers, fabric tenting and shifting as he works his cock. When he glances up through his eyelashes, he moans, and the vibration thrums through Isaac’s cock. He taps Stiles’ shoulder in warning, but Stiles just shakes his head and takes him in deeper. 

That, plus the sight of Stiles bringing himself off, totally unashamed, is what makes Isaac fall over the edge. 

Stiles swallows him down in between moans and gasps, each of which sends another flood of vibrations through Isaac’s oversensitive cock, and when he lets Isaac slip from between his lips, it’s just time for him to come with a gasped curse. Most of the mess ends up contained in his boxers, and when he slides his hand out, he wipes it off on his hoodie, which he takes off immediately afterward. 

“I could have done that for you,” Isaac says, waving at the wet spot staining the hoodie. 

“I know,” Stiles says with a shrug, zipping himself back up and getting to his feet. “You can return the favor later, if you really want to.” He waggles his eyebrows once, looking like some kind of cartoon character, and Isaac rolls his eyes as he pulls Stiles in by the front of his shirt for a quick kiss. 

“I might just take you up on that,” he says. “Thanks for the surprise.” 

“Anytime.” Picking up his backpack from the floor, Stiles continues, “Wanna get out of here before we get caught? I could really go for some pizza.”

Frankly, that sounds like the best idea Stiles has ever had so, grabbing his own backpack, Isaac nods and gestures towards the door. 

“After you.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
